


A Simple Deception

by pickledragon



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, and an evil dorito undeserving of a character tag, feat. the con of the century, for maximum character insight, in which the author makes things slightly off canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickledragon/pseuds/pickledragon
Summary: The hard part was the little girl looking at him like he was the world, when he didn't even know who he was. It was the old man kneeling down to hug him, tears in his eyes, for something he never did.For Stanuary 2017- Week 1: Con





	A Simple Deception

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by all the good Stanuary fic I've seen floating around, especially this piece by apathetic-revenant.tumblr.com/post/169241273419/stanuary-week-one-con. Go give the writer some love!

In the Fearamid, hand extended to Bill, his heart in his throat, Stan realized. This was not the hard part of this con. Imitating his brother? He could do that any day, had been doing it for thirty years. Sticking it to a demon in his own mindscape? Stan had faced harder challenges over breakfast. 

The real challenge would be afterwards, after the world had coalesced from fire and nothingness. The most difficult thing would be looking his family in the eyes afterwards. And he wouldn't even be around to witness it. 

Seconds seemed to last hours as Bill readied himself to enter Stan's mind. He steeled himself for the demon's entrance, but nothing could stop his shout when Cipher dove into his mind with glee. 

The easy part was clearing his head. Stan was no stranger to matters of the mind (a year in an asylum had prepared him for that) and turning his grayscale mindscape to pure white nothingness was a walk in the park. Stanford had stressed that part intensely, "You need to be perfect, nothing must tip him off that it's you." 

And if a tiny part of Stan bristled at the insinuation that he wouldn't, couldn't do the job properly, it was quickly assuaged by the twins' shouts in the distance and the shake in Stanford's voice. What did it matter how Stan felt? This was the easy part. 

It was simple: play paddleball until the demon came. Stan flicked his wrist over and over, hitting the target perfectly. It could have just been his mind, but Stan liked to think some muscle memory you just never lost. 

Bill broke his reverie quickly. The door slammed shut and the best part began. With the triangle at his mercy and Ford standing outside with a gun, Stan lunged forward. Bill's promises (resisting those was the easiest part) dissipated in a million pieces, scattered across the floor.

Now came the difficult part. The walls were on fire, the wallpaper losing it's sheen. Flames licked the shag carpet. The room was dying, Stan was going with it. Stan grabbed the picture of Dipper and Mabel held it close. 

"And to the bastard who comes after... good luck." Stan closed his eyes and a stranger opened his.

\-----

The hard part was the little girl looking at him like he was the world, when he didn't even know who he was. It was the old man kneeling down to hug him, tears in his eyes, for something he never did. It was the boy peppered in scratches and bruises refusing to meet his eyes as he knocked down a door into a house that he didn't know existed. The hard part was a grown man, standing in the corner with his hat in his hands.

The hardest part though? That was bringing it all back. 

For days after Mabel brought out her scrapbook, Stan wandered the house in a near fugue state. His last con was the first thing to come back, and Stan remembered the ease with which it came and the dread with which he had regarded the aftermath. 

"Hey old man, you got your wish-" Stan muttered to himself, "You are around to see it." 

The way Stan saw it, it was fitting that he came back, but only in pieces. Shattered bits that he had tp glue back together. And that was the final part of his con, keeping himself together while his family looked at him with such earnestness and hope. Stan was a man fractured, and scrabbling for the tiny pieces that madd up who he was. But he was whole to everyone else. 

The jig was up, the day before the twins' birthday. Ford cornered him in the hallway. His greatest con really was fooling his family for so long. 

The hard part was admitting to them that he wasn't the Stan they wanted so badly. Not yet, at least. That he was a liar and a cheat and not what he needed, what he wanted to be. 

The easy part was when they said they didn't care, and gave Stan a hug. 

Stan broke down. And his family pulled him back up. 

Over time, it became easier. Grabbing for memories of a summer past and coming up with adventures, scrambling for the right day in thirty years of isolation. And yet it was still difficult- losing inside jokes, forgetting where he hid things, or where exactly he was in 1983. 

Made sense. Every con had a price, and this one he was willing to pay.

And when he saw the kids' smiling faces heading back home and felt a six-fingered hand steady on his shoulder, Stan realized. 

All of it had been the hard part. This, right now? This was going to be the easy part. 

Stan turned to Ford. He smiled. They walked away from the dust cloud of the bus and toward home. They had a world to explore.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: learningthomas.tumblr.com  
> Original content: pickledragonblog.weebly.com


End file.
